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For a good many years The Squire has had to take a medication that costs about $500 over the counter. Maybe five years ago the insurance company put him on the generic brand, which is understandable. It is still wildly expensive, and doesn’t work quite as well, but we’re grateful to get even that.

About two weeks ago he got a letter stating that they would no longer cover this. Period. We called the company and they said the medication needed to be pre-authorized. OK. We do this once a year. Not sure why, as this was just done a few months ago, for a six month period, and we’re still in the middle.

Call to the doctor, another call to the insurance people, another letter denying the claim. Rinse and repeat.

We got a phone call Tuesday afternoon, informing us “the claim has been decisioned”. Yup. Decisioned. They had, finally, decisioned to cover the medicine.

A few weeks ago The Squire asked our GP about the arthritis in his hands. That good man suggested the problem might be my husband’s CMT* attacking his upper extremities.

A trip to a neurologist, Dr. Thomas, who agreed that this was the problem. He was surprised that The Squire had not even gotten a diagnosis until he was in his mid-30s, and astounded that he was in as “great shape” as he is. Most people with CMT are in a wheelchair – or worse – by their 70s. They discussed the three-times-a-week trips to the gym; keep on keeping on, but try not to overdo it. While The Squire can prevent too much more deterioration, he can’t build muscle, because there really isn’t anything there to build on. The doctor didn’t think the hearing loss was related, as there are no muscles in the ear.

“Now, let’s take a look at those hands.” A nerve conduction test was scheduled and performed, and there is, not surprisingly, a good deal of weakness caused by the nerves dying. One thing the doctor pointed out was that The Squire should be very careful of where his hands are and what they are doing. “You may think you have an item in your hand, but drop it because you don’t have a firm grip on it. Also, when you reach for something, your hand may not go as far as your brain says it has, so be careful of that.” Twice, The Squire has grabbed for the egg turner and touched the side of the frying pan instead, and now it makes sense.

So – he came home after getting the results of the nerve conduction test, and relayed all of this good stuff to me. He wandered around a bit, and then came into the kitchen to clean a bag of fresh string beans I’d gotten from a friend in our knitting group. “I have to find a way to keep busy without messing up my hands and feet any worse than they are.”

Today, he went outside and took rocks out of the stream, tossed them into the cart, and took them away to toss into another spot. So much for not messing up has hands and feet.

Try to behave yourself.

*CMT – Charcot-Marie-Tooth syndrome is named after the three doctors, Jean-Martin Charcot, Pierre Marie, and Howard Henry Tooth, who first clinically identified it. It is an hereditary condition which causes the nerves to die and the muscles atrophy. If it “kicks in” when you are a child, the bones “warp” to a certain extent to accommodate this, but if it begins in later years, the pain of the tendons pulling against the bones is so severe that some patients have a leg amputated, rather than endure the torment. There is no cure, only palliative care. The Squire has donated his body to the anatomy board.

When I came downstairs Tuesday morning (was it only yesterday?) I found the bathroom totally ripped apart and The Squire asleep in the recliner. He’d had a bout of projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhea and had taken the time and effort to remove the worst of the evidence before he’d collapsed.

What with one thing and another I ended up taking him to the ER around 10, as he had all of the symptoms of the “thick blood” problem he’d had back in 2015. I stayed with him until 1:00, came home, fed the dog and myself and did a bit around the house – not that you can tell. He called around dinner time to tell me they were keeping him for the night (no surprise there!) and he was going up to a room. I showered and dressed and went back to the hospital, but he was still in the ER, as they were waiting for a bed. Kissed him goodnight, came home and collapsed into bed myself.

When his blood thickens up – and they don’t know why – he can’t get enough oxygen. He gets short of breath, confused, and very, very weak. He’s still on IVs and he thinks they put some blood thinner in the mix. They told him it was to prevent clots.

He called this morning at 7:30 to let me know he was still alive – barely. He hadn’t gotten upstairs until 1AM and it was pushing 3 before people stopped asking him questions and let him rest. He sounded dreadful, but I think that is pure exhaustion. I keep saying hospitals are no place for sick people!

I made bread, went up to do the wash, and stopped at KFC for lunch. Just keeping up tradition, and it was easier than trying to fix something for myself. Hung up half the clothes, tossed the rest into the dryer, and went back down to visit my poor husband. He did get a bit of sleep last night and was dozing when I arrived. He’d had a good dinner – chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy, fresh string beans, and ice cream for dessert. He requested a salad for supper. I’m not the only one keeping tradition! I took two along small loaves of the bread I’d made this morning – no harm in bribing the staff!

He complained yesterday that the nurses didn’t put in a port, but stick him anew every times they draw blood. Early this morning one nurse stuck him four times and never did find a vein. A second nurse came in and got four vials right off the bat. The first woman had left the room, and the second one muttered “That’s the difference between twenty years experience and twenty weeks.” Everybody has to be new once, but, oh! my goodness!

I’ve completely lost track of days and times. I have one errand to run right now and then I am going to come back home and try to get some rest myself. No point in both of us being down.

My car had a leak in the pipe that goes from the gas cap to the tank, so I left it at the garage the other night. This morning The Squire dropped me off at church for knitting while he went to the dermatologist. I was quite early, so I went into the church and set up the altar for Sunday morning. The flowers that were there for last week were not fit to be seen for a second week, so I stuffed them into a garbage bag and headed for the dumpster.

Just as the church door closed behind me I realized I had A) locked the door behind me when I went inside, and B) I’d unlocked the sacristy door and my keys were hanging in the knob. Today is the coldest we have had so far this winter, and blowing a gale. Lovely. Fortunately, I had dropped my cell phone into my pocket when I left the house this morning. I don’t normally carry it, and I hadn’t bothered with a purse either because The Squire was driving.

Normally Mac’s wife opens the building for knitting, but both of them are home sick today. I hated to drag her out of bed, but she kindly put on her bedroom slippers and drove over to rescue me. Talk about feeling idiotic!

I did learn that the incident Tuesday night involved a group of teens – a young man and two females – goofing around in the early evening. He had climbed a tree, and the branch had broken, dropping him to the ground. Crews had come back in the daylight, and the entire tree was dead – and on private property, clearly marked with “No Trespassing” signs.

I went up to the farmer’s market the other day to pick up peanuts – $64 for a 50 pound bag – and got some rhubarb at the same time. Last night, I made up a rhubarb and strawberry pie, with a crunch top.

It looked and smelled heavenly but I realized, when I opened the oven door, that the cookie sheet I intended to put under it was still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Talk about a royal mess!

I went over to knitting this morning, and when I came home The Squire had cleaned up the mess I’d left behind. We had pie for dinner, and it was well worth the hassle.

In spite of all our best efforts, now both of us have this horrible cold. The Squire is still sleeping in the recliner in the TV room, while the cat has been helping me hold down the bed. The Squire seems to be on the mend, but I am now in the middle of this mess.

We headed upstairs when we got back from picking up the “Dough-Nation” from Panera. The Squire settled down with a book, and I did the same. I read for about an hour, but my Restless Leg Syndrome was still giving me fits, so I went downstairs to take a bit more medicine. His door was still ajar, and he was sound asleep with the book open on his chest. I removed the book, covered him up, and turned off the light. I tossed and turned a bit, and the last time I looked at the clock, it was after midnight.

The dog started to bark around 3AM, but by the time I put on my robe The Squire had already headed down to see what all the fuss was about. Nada. Blazer started up again a few minutes before 4, and this time we both went down. Not a thing to see, but we turned off the alarm and let the dog go take a really good look. Whatever was out there was on the other side of the stream. Blazer gave it a good barking at, and returned to the house with a smug expression.

I took a dose of cough syrup and staggered back to bed, hoping for a bit of uninterrupted sleep. No such luck. Even with the fan making white noise in the background, I had a hard time falling back to sleep, and then at 7AM Eddie decided it was high time for me to come feed him. Yeesh. Between 10PM and 7AM I managed to get about five hours of sleep.

I’m gonna go take a nap. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.

When The Squire came down at 4AM he was in his night clothes, but when I covered him up at midnight, he was still fully dressed. He asked me if I had wakened him and told him to change, which I had not.

“Must have been a Samuel Ready fire drill.” *

* When I was at school I woke up one morning with my jeans (dungarees, we called them) over my PJ bottoms. Apparently, we had a fire drill in the middle of the night, and I’d gotten up, dressed, and gone out to stand on the athletic field with every other girl in the school. Couldn’t prove it by me. If it hadn’t been that everybody was talking about it, and the head mistress had congratulated us on our perfect performance, I’d have guessed the girls in my dorm had played a trick on me.

Actually, it isn’t really a case of Man Flu; The Squire is really sick. He has come down with this horrible cold/flu that has been going around, and the doctor told him it would hang around for about two weeks. Snorting and sniffling, and coughing until he sees spots. No fun. Been there and done that, myself.

He’s been sleeping in the recliner ever since his surgery, and now he finds he breathes better if he sleeps in a semi-reclining position.

I’ll certainly be glad when he’s well enough to come back to bed. The cat has decided he needs to keep me company. Eddie doesn’t toss and turn, and he’s not too bad about hogging the covers. At least when The Squire needs to leave the room in the middle of the night, he can open his own darned door!